


True Care

by Marvel_Obsessed_Maven



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slow Romance, Threesome - F/M/M, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25954951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel_Obsessed_Maven/pseuds/Marvel_Obsessed_Maven
Summary: Steve Rogers is not a selfish man. But after all he's lost, and all he's sacrificed, he finds himself wanting. With nothing left to lose, he decides to go and take what he wants for the first time in his century of living. It just so happens that in this case, what he wants is Queen Shuri. AU. Steve/Shuri.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Shuri, Steve Rogers & Shuri, Steve Rogers/Shuri
Comments: 19
Kudos: 42





	1. "Can't sleep again?"

**Author's Note:**

> My AU version of the years after the Decimation focused on two of my favorite MCU characters - Steve Rogers and Shuri.
> 
> A slow-ish burn.
> 
> As much therapy for me as it is a way to pass the time.
> 
> I do research to the best of my ability (Wakanda itself and the real-life region it is supposedly in), but I fully expect I've gotten something wrong.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> -MM

_**WASHINGTON** _

_**4 YRS AFTER THE SNAP** _

* * *

At six-past-two in the morning, it's still raining and Steve Rogers can't go to sleep.

He lies on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to the rain splattering in sheets against his windows. His mind wanders aimlessly through memories of the last time he saw each of the ones they lost. A silent movie he's seen a million times but can't look away from.

While his thoughts pace, his feelings gather into a tight knot of tension.

He closes his eyes briefly, the familiar sensation of regret and anxiety coalescing within him.

He's spent nearly his entire life coiled this tightly. It's a gnawing ache only rivaled by the devastating hunger of the Depression. A feeling as old and enduring as he is. He's even come to rely on it. The first time he really began to channel it into something greater than endless, private disquietude was when he finally got to serve his country. When he isn't trying desperately to find sleep at night, the super-soldier serum turns his constant tension into fuel. Since he became Captain America, that unrelenting desire for release has carried him through his toughest missions. It gives him spine; resolve; as much a motivator as it is an affliction.

It refuses to ease up and grant him (temporary) relief until he puts on the uniform; until he _knows_ he's done everything in his power to win out on the side of truth, justice, liberty...everything he's believed in for so long.

 _Old fashioned._ The man out of time; still obsessed with giving his life to serving the greater good. Since that terrible day four years ago, though, what Captain America believes in just isn't enough, if much use at all, for weathering the aftershock. He doesn't even know if there _is_ still a Captain America.

What's left of the Avengers still accepts missions. Cleaning up, atoning, showing a brave front.

There's always work to be done, but none of it is the same. Not by a long shot. With each passing year, Steve is beginning to believe it _never_ will be. After all he's lost and sacrificed, he's starting to feel his true age. That old brick of tension in his gut is starting to wear out its welcome. Four years, and it remains as solid and bitterly unsatisfied as ever.

He can't fight Thanos. Thanos is dead. The stones are gone forever. He can't bring back the ones they lost. No rousing speech or takedown of any new threat can. For the first time since he became Captain America, there is no release in sight.

 _I think both of us need to get a life_ , Nat had said to him earlier after yet another evening of picking through Chinese food and staring at the news.

In the present, Steve sighs deeply. He kicks his heavy, muscular legs out of his sheets, frustrated that he is wide awake, yet again, for the third night in a row.

His oscillating thoughts almost drown out the rain.

Nat is wrong. Getting a life isn't going to help either of them.

She can't stop hunting for a way to undo what was done. Almost nothing can distract her. In fact, all she ever seems to do lately is find ways to make everything about what they lost.

He can't stop regretting his failure. Sometimes it seems regret is all he has left. The occasional takeout date with Nat and a survivor's group that can't seem to move on is about as close to a life as he can bring himself to get. Which, of course, is no life at all.

The emotionally burned out super soldier rises slowly to sit up against his balled up pillows.

Before he can stop it, he thinks of Bucky's slow, sad smile.

Sam's concerned eyes.

Fury.

Wanda.

Vision.

T'Challa.

Tony.

The Snap, like a thousand thunderbolts striking at once. _Oh god...we lost._

They counted on him. They believed in him. They _followed_ him. They paid for it.

Outside, thunder reverberates through the rainstorm from across the distance.

The tension sits heavy and rusty in the pit of his stomach as he stares at the shadows moving across his bedroom wall. It hasn't been this dense and unignorable since he first saw Bucky's face emerge from the Winter Soldier's mask.

_Brrooo-deee-brrooo!_

Just like that, a familiar sound breaks through the tension like nothing else can seem to these days. Steve smiles tiredly as he registers the kimoyo beads chiming somewhere in his living room, probably from his desk where he left them a few days ago.

 _Shuri. Of course._ Like always, her timing is downright uncanny.

Already, the tension starts to ease, just a little. He knows it'll only improve once he sees her.

With a deep, grounding breath, he gets up and lets the anticipation draw him through the dim apartment until he's pulled the beads off of the desk.

He slips them onto his wrist and rubs his thumb over the blinking bead in the middle of the band. A hologram flickers out across his palm. Queen Shuri's smirking face manifests and he remembers too late that he's shirtless. She grins and shakes her head at him as her gaze drops down just past his pecs and back up to his eyes.

"Ha, knew it. Can't sleep again?" Her pleasant voice echoes out to him like music, diffusing any uneasiness he might be tempted to feel about being shirtless in front of a queen.

"How do you _do_ that?" Steve relaxes some, leaning sideways against the wall behind the desk to frown at her in wonder.

It's relatively dark in his apartment, with the exception of a lone night light in the kitchen and the street lamps outside being pelted with sheets of rain. He feels less exposed in the shadows, more curious how she always knows exactly when to call. It's not like he keeps an insomnia schedule...does he?

"You're as predictable as the moon, Rogers."

Steve gives her a bashful smile, accepting the jab good-naturedly.

So is she. He isn't the only one who can't sleep. He watches her moving about. Even though she's stopped looking at him and now seems to be concentrating on something, his sharp vision picks up on the dark circles under her eyes. She's in her lab, working on one of her humanitarian STEM projects, no doubt.

His smile disappears as he realizes what that indicates. "How long have you been going?"

Over the years, even though they're half a world apart and Shuri seems constantly busy picking up the broken pieces of her beloved Wakanda, they've kept in touch. Even gotten close.

She'd given him the beads after they discovered they had an easy, synergetic rapport they'd been missing out on in all his Avenger _-_ ing and her being a prodigy. At the very first global Decimation Day memorial event hosted in Wakanda, with Shuri a newly coronated queen, they drifted together and bonded over their grief, overactive minds, and drive in life to be of use to their countrymen.

And Bucky.

She spoke so highly of Wakanda's _Ingcuka_ ; the person Bucky had become whilst recovering there; giving Steve the first few hours of peace from the overwhelming guilt he'd experienced since Thanos snapped his fingers. She spoke as if she _truly_ cared for Bucky...perhaps more than anyone would ever know. It took Steve pleasantly by surprise.

They kept their rapport going strong until it naturally evolved into a close friendship. One he keeps to himself. Moments like this, especially. At first, he would shoot a simple kimoyo text her way every blue moon to make sure she was holding up alright, hoping she had a new project to talk about or some new 'old man' jokes to distract him from his grief. Without him even noticing, he began to really look forward to their chats, however few or far between. She provides relief for him that he hadn't expected. Spending time talking to Shuri is just...easy. Easy is so hard to come by these days.

Then, she had to go and develop this knack for knowing when to call; especially when they figured out that they were both suffering through bouts of grief or anxiety-induced insomnia. Whereas Rogers usually finds himself punching the sand out of a bag or jogging laps around Washington until dawn, Queen Shuri ends up working in her lab for days. Every now and then, they meet in the middle, unable to find satisfaction in their usual coping tactics.

She makes him laugh; takes his mind off of the painful tension tightening its grip on him whenever he's alone with his thoughts. He has endless patience, helping her mind slow down enough to let her feel fatigued. It's nice to have someone at the other end of a lifeline when he feels the walls closing in on him. He just never thought that person would be Shuri.

In the present - Shuri shrugs, her movement breaking through Steve's thoughts about the progression of their friendship. She is now actively avoiding his probing look.

" _Shuri_." He lets some serious concern slip into his low voice.

Shuri stops fidgeting with her work and looks at him again. He doesn't like what he hears.

"A couple of days, I think? Maybe a few hours more. Honestly, I've lost track."

Steve walks over to his couch and sits leaned over with his arms on his knees, forgetting once again that he's only wearing a pair of boxer briefs.

"I thought we talked about you giving that a rest," he admonishes gently. "Where is OKoye? I'm honestly surprised she let you - "

"I am her queen, _Captain_." Shuri counters him, just a bit of a bite to her tone that causes him to swallow. He forgets sometimes and starts lecturing her as if she's still a teenager. If watching her carry the burden (however from afar) of leading her country out of its darkest hour has taught him anything over the years, it's that Queen Shuri is no child playing at royalty. She is the real deal. "I sent her to personally investigate a disturbance at the border to get her out of my hair. Anyway, why are _you_ up? Still no girlfriend to wear out that super serum?"

She smoothly changes the subject, returning to her work as he settles back against the couch.

He gets distracted, his eyes roaming across the angles of her face while her attention is elsewhere. Noticing (not for the first time lately) the way she's grown into her looks. Shuri's beauty blends her mother's timeless, graceful elegance with a warm, sweet softness and energetic glow he can only attribute to her father, T'Chaka.

He stops staring and realizes she's trying to distract him from his worry by embarrassing him. It's been too long since he truly felt like the bashful boy from Brooklyn they show in the archive footage at the Smithsonian, though.

"Seriously? That's your comeback?"

"I'm just saying, maybe you could sleep if you…you know...got some."

Her eyes flicker across his chest briefly and she shrugs, a mischievous glint flashing at him from their brown depths. Steve feels his abdomen contract under her scrutiny, the tension deep inside him igniting like a furnace after a lit match.

"Don't even start," he shuts her down quickly. "We can discuss my sex life when you get outta that lab long enough to 'get some', yourself. Or better yet, _get some shut eye, your Majesty_. Next subject."

When Shuri looks at him again, even in the dark as a small hologram in his palm, he can see the deep brown iridescence of her eyes. Her work on the holotech inside this latest version of the beads is nothing short of amazing. He sees her as clearly as if she's really sitting in his lap.

He wonders what _she_ sees…

Steve cuts that thought off swiftly, forcing himself to refocus on her. He's learned to recognize that hopeful look. She wants something.

"Okay, okay, fine. Just checking to see if you're bringing someone besides Natasha to the 'D-Day' event for once." She rushes that last part, feigning nonchalance. "I think a date might distract people from asking how you're 'coping with your loss'."

Steve winces. Of course.

The memorial event is in a couple of weeks. He's been mostly focusing on Decimation Day - a day he dreads with more intensity every year - but the event is also something he hates. They _both_ hate, or so he thought. Shuri hadn't shown up to the last one, held in what was left of Japan. The official Wakandan press release only mentioned she had come down with something severe enough to prevent her traveling, but he suspected she was more likely battling exhaustion. She worked herself too hard, too much. He had wanted to see her, but he was relieved to realize he too might be able to excuse his way out of it if the Queen of Wakanda could. Nat jumped on board and they made a pact not to subject themselves to it this year. But it's Wakanda's turn to host again, he remembers. The host nation can't just take a raincheck. Damn. She's asking him to show up.

"Ah. That."

"Yes. _That._ " Shuri sighs, her entire demeanor deflating as if someone unplugged her. "I want so badly to call the whole thing off, Steve."

"Well, you _are_ the queen."

"I am."

They both know she can't _really_ do whatever she wants. What's left of the world is watching.

"And there are people counting on you." He eases into a well-practiced, gently encouraging tone, setting aside his own dread at the thought of all those people, the lingering grief, and the need in their eyes. "Wakanda's the strongest nation left, thanks to you. You're a symbol for the rest of the world with _good reason_ , Shuri. We need all of the hope we can get right now, an example of true leadership, and I can't think of anyone who even comes close."

She looks as if she wants to argue, but wisely doesn't, because she already knows what self-deprecating thing he'll respond with. He tries not to sound ashamed, but rather as hopeful as he's encouraging her to be. It's his fault that she has to shoulder the world's expectations right now, with so much laid to waste by Thanos on Captain America and the Avengers' watch. But, his hands are tied. She's a genius leading her nation (and the world) out of darkness, and he's just an old geezer losing his sense of purpose.

Maybe supporting her can be his purpose for a little while. A few hours in a tux is nothing.

And he does miss Wakanda. He misses _her_.

"I know. Baba always said it's nothing to envy, ruling a nation. I thought I knew what it was all about, but...I realize now I really had no clue. Didn't even want one."

They regard each other, the weight of their responsibilities pressing down on top of them.

With a consoling smile, he breathes deeply and bucks up, channeling that old resolve of his.

"I guess I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't show up to have your back."

Shuri lights up like Rockefeller Center on Christmas, her grin returning in full bloom. The snarky little sister of the Black Panther he'd met years ago emerges through the somewhat fatigued, though still innately radiant Queen Shuri of today.

"Yes! Thank Bast, I thought I'd have to bribe you. What would an old boy scout-like you even take?" She gets going like thunder, as she does on occasion, and he settles in for a rush of sing-song jokes and observations he'll have to translate in order to respond to. "I read somewhere that something called Lincoln Logs was _verry_ popular in your day. What on Earth did you do with _those?_ "

Steve laughs, watching her wrinkle her nose at the name of the old fashioned toy. He's been hoping for this, he realizes. The laughter rolls through him warmly, spreading up to his chest and out of him in a rumble, shaking loose the tension he's been feeling for days. The pleasant sensation lasts, holding him hostage for a moment. Shuri's really the only person left who can still make him belly laugh. That rare achievement was previously only held by Bucky and Sam, with the exception of Peggy when she managed to get his guard down. No, he admits to himself, he _doesn't_ feel this kind of levity with anyone anymore; not even with Nat. He misses it. He misses the ability to just _be_ , without feeling like he's sitting on a ticking time bomb.

"Congrats. You discovered how to Google the thirties."

She sticks her tongue out at him, eliciting an even warmer chuckle from deep in his chest.

"Okay then, whatever you want. Mint Cracker Jack cards? A vintage Slinky in its original packaging? I think I saw one of those old-timey red wagons on eBay..."

She waves her slender hand at him as she rattles off a few different vintage toy products from his childhood era.

"Now you're just reading me random search results, come on. Disrespectful."

He laughs some more, shaking his head in amusement that she would go to those lengths just to soften him up enough to accept her request. She must really be dreading this event.

"Hey." She finally makes eye contact again, her smile fading, the mirth draining from her sparkling eyes. Steve sighs, his grief and a certain unspoken name between them settling again into a tense knot deep inside him. "I'll be there. No need to bribe me with Cracker Jacks."

She makes a noise of mild amusement, but also relief, he can hear. He knows exactly what she's feeling. If it was him, he'd want the only person who can make him forget (even just for a few hours) to be within reach, too. Suffering through her not being there last year is what made him swear off going again in the first place.

"It's just…" Shuri wipes at her eyes. He notices they looked like they were sparkling before because she's been holding back tears. She's very tired, and it's obviously taking a toll on her emotions, which have been swaying since he answered the call. He waits. "The closer we get to the day, I can't stop thinking about all these people, yet again, comparing me to T'Challa. Baba before him. Their expectations, sometimes, Steve...it's so much. Sometimes all I want is my brother, and my…"

He watches her sweet, lovely face crush inward with pain. He knows she doesn't want to cry and she'll be angry if she can't stop. He knows also that she longs to stop holding back.

Since that first night, she's been avoiding saying the name they're both thinking. Avoiding diving any deeper than the fond memories she offered then, when they'd been surrounded by diplomats and generals, politicians, and grieving civilians.

 _My Ingcuka_ , he imagines her finishing her sentence in her pretty accent.

He wants to know if he's right; if only she would open up that part of herself again. But then, maybe he doesn't. He chooses not to follow that line of thought. Shuri needs _him_ , now.

"It's okay, Shuri." Steve sits forward on the couch, unconcerned with his bare chest, unkempt hair, and dark surroundings. "You won't have to go through it alone. You have my word."

"Thank you." Her laughter this time is raw and hoarse from exhaustion. "I know you hate it. But I'm so relieved you'll come. Heh, I spent the last two days talking myself into asking, so you'd _better_."

Shuri is a proud, ingenious, amazing young woman that Steve has grown to think of as a close friend...but at this moment all he sees is a vulnerable soul in mourning. A soul in need of comfort, protection; to be handled with great care.

He wishes, not for the first time since they've gotten close, that he could reach out to touch her; pass on his concern and offer her peace with his physical presence, somehow. He always dismisses it. She's a queen and one of the most revered people in the world. You don't touch a person like Shuri unless she invites it. _I want her to_...this time he has to block the thought like a bullet with an imaginary vibranium shield. _No. You want to help, but don't go there._

Too late. The desire is so strong that it takes him by surprise; grips him almost as tightly as the deep dismay he feels whenever he thinks of losing Bucky and Sam. He has to refocus again, opening his mouth to say something so his thoughts don't run away from him...or he'll start imagining what her skin feels like, and that would lead to trouble.

"You gave Bucky a second chance at life before he was taken from us," Steve boldly says his best friend's name to remember himself again, emphasizing the ' _us'_ , swallowing his tension enough to let her know how much she's come to mean to him - and why. "For that, I owe you a hell of a lot more than a dance. A dance is easy."

 _Whatever you ask_ , he thinks and realizes he means it, as he gazes at her sincerely.

He watches her wince at the mention of Bucky, but she doesn't give him what he hopes. She doesn't open up. Instead, her sweet, warm glow returns.

"Good, Rogers. Then show up ready to dance, and _I'll_ be dressing you. You're hopeless."

He rubs his eyes, already regretting his consent. He doesn't want to think about how she knows his measurements. "I can pick out my own tux, your Majesty."

Shuri makes a face at him, humming in the back of her throat. "Hmm, _can_ you, though?"

He's forced to laugh heartily again. He'll let that one slide, too.

Steve is relieved to see at least she seems more relaxed, no longer pausing to work and avoid looking at him. They fall into easy banter. Hours pass, and by the time they end their talk, he's on his back and their cadence is much slower. They even enjoy peaceful interludes of silence in between his quiet commentary as she works and his eyelids get heavier. As dawn approaches, their mission is accomplished. The tension inside him has eased to a barely-noticeable thrum. He finally feels his mind will leave him alone long enough to fall asleep if he really commits.

Mid-sentence, Shuri yawns and unfurls herself like a cat in her lab chair. " _Bast_ , it's past lunchtime here. I'm so hungry but _sooo_ sleepy. Mm, finally."

Another big yawn rolls upward and outward through her slender frame. She indeed resembles a young pantheress, stretching luxuriously in a sun spot. He chuckles lethargically until watching her do it forces him to as well.

"Eat. Then _go to sleep_." He commands her groggily, closing his eyes in earnest. That deep yawn left his body feeling heavy, ready. "Don't force me to put in a kimoyo alert to the general."

"You wouldn't _dare_ snitch on me."

Her indignant tone elicits one last exhausted grunt of a chuckle. She's right, but he doesn't answer.

Shuri sees that as her cue to end the kimoyo session, though she pauses to watch him lay on his back with his eyes closed. He misses her gaze lingering, dropping to his neck, chest, and what she can see of his abdomen before rising slowly to his face again.

"So you'll come? Bring Natasha? And possibly a date?"

"Nat'll be my date." _If I can even convince her to come..._

He refuses to open his eyes to watch her pout, but he can picture it pretty much perfectly.

"Stubborn."

"Why are you two always so concerned with my dating life?" He does open his eyes this time, really wanting to know.

"You have to get one for me to be concerned about it, genius," Shuri deadpans before quieting and lingering inside his stare. He raises an eyebrow and she relents. "But, if you say you're fine being a shut-in, I'll leave you to it."

"I'm _fine_ being a single man, your Majesty." He lets his true age enter his voice; a rarity, but effective. "There's a difference."

He wants her to drop it. He wants everyone to. For good. It's not that big a deal anymore, or at least it shouldn't be. He doesn't have a great track record, or a great excuse, and he knows it. He's sort of given up because nothing will ever hold a candle to what he found with Peggy. He knows that, too. That was his ironclad excuse at any rate, once upon a time.

She clicks her tongue at him dismissively. "Right, I forgot. You're _Steve Rogers_. Lady Liberty's your woman, right?"

"Okay, Rogers out. See you in a couple of weeks." It's his turn to roll his eyes as he strokes the beads so that her beautiful, laughing face disappears.

Steve lies back, taking a deep, long breath, and covers his eyes with the crook of his arm.

The sun is starting to rise. The rain has stopped. He can still see her face behind his eyelids.

It doesn't really bother him anymore, his friends' tradition of making fun of his age. Except when Shuri does it, he can't help reacting as if it's a challenge of some kind. He wonders if she used to tease Bucky like that. The old Bucky would just lay one on her to get her to pipe down about all that 'old man' stuff. Steve smiles tiredly, remembering that back then all Bucky needed was about ten minutes, and many pretty rich girls around Manhattan who underestimated him ended up with a hickey and a changed perspective. Steve had always silently envied his best pal's ability to seduce virtually anyone without breaking a sweat.

The _Ingcuka_ Queen Shuri described the night of that first gala would never do that, though.

The thought of Bucky finally finding not only peace, but laughter and acceptance ( _and love_ , he knows in the back of his mind) with the kind of sweet, warm energy Shuri exudes makes Steve feel deeply grateful to her once again. It makes him remember his place. His role.

He doesn't want to go to this event. Not at all. But he will put on a tux, and he will go, and he will support Shuri in any way he can. She never had to work herself up for two days to ask.

One look at the anxiety in her tearful eyes and he's already there.

One look was all it ever took with her, he realizes as he recounts any time over the years that she asked anything of him. At first, he told himself, _for Bucky. For_ _T'Challa._

Now he accepts...it's really for himself, as well. He cares for Shuri. _A lot._ If he's honest, caring about her is maybe the one thing he actually feels good about these days. It's the one way he _knows_ he can honor what he lost.

If he has to suffer through yet another gauche global event reminding him of his biggest failure and most devastating loss, at least he'll spend it in the company of the only other person left in the world who makes that brick in his gut feel more like a small stone.

Steve falls asleep as the sun rises beneath a rainbow over Washington. He slips into dreaming of Shuri's face, looking forward to seeing her radiant smile in person again.


	2. "The Queen likes to fix."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Natasha return to Wakanda, where his self-control is tested to the breaking point once he sets eyes on Shuri.

_**WAKANDA** _

_**13 DAYS LATER** _

* * *

Sooner (yet somehow much longer) than he thinks, the still-dazzling landscape of the Wakandan empire is on the horizon.

Steve stands on the Quinjet behind Nat in the cockpit, admiring the breathtaking scenery.

Even after all this time and all he's seen in his life, he's still bowled over by the vision of the kingdom of uniquely shaped towers fusing ancient African architecture with ever-evolving technology. He takes his time admiring the vast, lush green lands peppered with grazing animals, villages, and gorgeous clusters of forestland. The vibrant, constantly moving bizarre, stretching from the palace to the end of Central Wakanda, where locals and travelers from all over come to buy and sell unique wares that can only be found here. The sight of the mountainscape and Warrior Falls overlooking the majestic land surrounding the Great Mound, capped off by the powerful figure of the forever roaring panther goddess, Bast, will never, ever get old.

The kingdom is still recovering after losing half its citizenry and Thanos's attack, but it is still mighty and gorgeous. Washington is an ash heap compared to Wakanda.

Funnily enough, it all just reminds him of Bucky. He wonders what Bucky's life was like here all the time and, despite himself, he usually finds a little envy creeping into his musings.

"You know, I'm still kind of in shock that we're doing this."

Nat's smooth voice interrupts his thoughts. This is the first time she's spoken more than two words since they took off. She puts the Quinjet on autopilot now that they've been granted access through the border dome. Steve looks down to see her leaning back in the pilot seat with her arms crossed, watching the jet glide its way toward the palace landing zone in the distance. He can tell she's not really seeing the gorgeous Wakandan scenery, though.

He knows Nat is looking forward to seeing a few other familiar faces again. But she's opted to give him shit about this since he asked her to change her mind about coming. Mostly by questioning his motives between bouts of the silent treatment.

"You didn't have to come, Nat." He says quietly for what must be the thousandth time.

He's starting to regret asking her. Part of him is amused to think letting Shuri set him up and facing his awkwardness on the dating scene would be better than this.

Thinking of seeing Shuri again, even if she's just teasing him, makes him smile impulsively.

Natasha frowns, shaking her head as he eases into the seat next to her. "What's going on with you, Rogers? You've been grinning like a preteen all day. Don't tell me you're actually _looking forward_ to this."

"I - weren't _you_ the one who told me to get a life a few weeks ago?" he exhales impatiently, avoiding her probing gaze.

"You think wading into shark-infested waters was my idea of…?"

"Oh, _come on_ , Nat. It's our friends," he snaps, losing his patience with her bitterness for the first time since she slipped into this unbreakable funk, "not some trap."

Natasha closes her eyes and rubs her forehead, her steely expression softening for the first time since they took off.

"Sorry," she relents under her breath. "It's not you. It's not even _here_ ," she gestures at the majestic land beneath them. "I'm just not looking forward to all those people with all that hope in their eyes and all their questions. Like what's left of us has any goddamned answers…"

He watches the painful reality of their failure darken her eyes as they finally meet his. She smiles softly, but there's no trace of cheer there at all. The super spy with steel in her veins and a thousand personas; who could work any room she entered with a flutter of her lashes; has suffered too long under the stress of living in the dust leftover from the decimation of half her chosen family. She's nervous. This is the first time Steve has ever seen her like this.

" _Four years,_ Steve _._ And we're still lost."

Empathy coursing through him, Steve reaches over and squeezes Natasha's hand.

"No one's expecting you to have any answers." He offers her an encouraging smile. "Maybe just to do some dancing, sit through a few speeches, make some small talk…" he's relieved to see a smile forming despite the eye roll she tosses at him. "Best part is, we get a little break to see some familiar faces I know we _both_ miss."

"Like the Queen's?" Natasha raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow, not missing a beat as the jet begins its final decrease in altitude, homing in on the last stretch of their landing. Her sharp eyes study him discerningly.

Steve nods, wary of her curiosity. He's never opened up to Nat about his friendship with the queen. To be honest, he's been purposefully keeping it to himself. He admits to himself silently that it's this exact attitude of skepticism that he's been avoiding. The inevitable implication that his intentions are anything but pure. Or hers.

"Yeah, like Shuri."

"Hm."

He gathers his patience. "'Hm,' _what_ , Nat?"

That familiar, barely-there smirk of hers. She always acts like she knows. Does she? _There's nothing to know, Rogers. You're just keeping Shuri close to the vest because...because...why? Because you just want one thing...one good, pure, untainted thing to yourself._

Nat shrugs, staring him down. "She called...we're here."

Right. She definitely knows. That doesn't stop him from instantly resenting the implications of her tone. Or denying them. He doesn't think about whom he's really trying to convince, here.

"She's a friend. One of the only ones _we_ have left." He emphasizes ' _we'_ , ignoring his annoyance and her irritating ability to read him like a book missing its cover. "If you stopped being so skeptical of what's waiting for us, you'd see she probably reached out because she's feeling the same way we are. We may not have all the answers, but we _still support our friends_ , Nat."

That does it, diffusing her last bit of resistance. She blinks back her emotion. He takes that as his in to put her suspicions about his intentions or the queen's feelings to bed.

"You know, I tell people every week they should move on? Some do. But not us." He sighs deeply, the Wakandan sunset bringing out the shards of green in his normally azure eyes. "Actually _, everyone_ who means something in my life has told me that at one time or another, including you. 'Sometimes the best we can do is start over...get a life.' I think it's time we listen. And lighten up for once, huh?"

Nat raises her eyebrows, impressed. "Pretty decent pep talk, Cap."

He chuckles, relieved that he won't have to fight both hers and his own uneasiness while they're here. "Good to know I haven't lost my touch."

The jet pings loudly, announcing that they're landing. Steve straightens up, watching the sprawling palace rise to meet them as they touch down onto the landing pad.

Nat follows him down the ramp, out underneath the pink sky and towering palace structures, letting her Shuri line of questioning drop. Steve concentrates on the kind eyes of the Queen Mother, Ramonda, and warm greetings from the Dora general, OKoye.

The Black Widow is already starting to relax by the time they've been welcomed back. She's even _laughing_ and practicing her Xosha with OKoye as they're escorted through the palace.

"Shuri sends her greetings, Captain," Ramonda says quietly, falling behind with him as OKoye explains some of the changes they've made since the Decimation to Nat. "She regrets not being able to welcome you back herself."

Steve smiles again, the anticipation of seeing her in person after so long having only grown since he boarded the Quinjet this morning. If he's being honest, it's been growing since she invited him.

"Steve, please ma'am. What's she getting up to on her big night, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Checking and rechecking that her new designs are perfect for the hundredth time, I'm sure... " Ramonda waves a hand with an almost otherworldly elegance (he sees where Shuri gets her gracefulness from) and reaches out to take his arm.

He manages to hide his surprise. This is something she might never have done had they not both suffered through one of the most traumatic events of their lives together. The Queen Mother has always stood as an elevated, sovereign figure hovering just in his periphery, watching her son defend his kingdom and support the Avengers. Steve realizes he's never been this close to her before. It almost feels like a rite of passage. He keeps her supported respectfully as they walk.

He can't help marveling at the grandeur of their surroundings as if seeing it for the first time, every time. Every impeccably selected detail of this place - from the floor-to-ceiling oil paintings of generations of Wakandan tribe leaders, kings and queens, and their children, to the ornate sculptures and antique furniture, the fabrics, the murals on the ceilings, the looming, exotic plants, all of it a feast for the eyes - never ceases to amaze him. With each visit, the palace always manages to make him feel like that scrawny kid walking into the Stark expo for the first time.

"She's been working so hard, poor thing. Always off in her lab, at times for days, leaving me with all the gala planning."

Steve chuckles quietly at his feet as Ramonda clucks her tongue in mild exasperation with her daughter's nigh-superhuman work ethic.

"I've been trying to encourage her to rest," he replies, feeling her pain. "She's stubborn, though."

" _Tuh!_ Who are you telling? I suppose she gets that from me. I can't say that I blame her..." he watches a grim cloud pass over her expression. He sees how much she's lost weighing her down just then, but she smiles radiantly anyway and continues, "at least she has something to take her mind off her sadness. Some of us only have our dreams to comfort us."

Steve feels for her deeply, but he can't find the words to comfort her either. So he stays quiet as they move on.

"It's good to see you both. I am glad you decided to come back this year," she confides, petting his arm, her rings glinting in the setting sunlight as they pass the windows overlooking one of the garden sitting areas.

"Me too, ma'am…"

She looks up at him, studying him. He politely endures it, though he's wondering why she's taking such an interest in what he looks like. "So is Shuri."

"She kinda made it sound like I'd never hear the end of it if I didn't."

Ramonda chuckles, which sounds like bells. "What she's been working toward...all of the stress she's put herself under to get this right...I know it will mean a lot to her to have your support. Especially yours."

Steve gazes down at her, frowning as he tries to understand what she's telling him. "Thank you, your Majesty. I'm glad to support the queen and Wakanda in any way I can."

She smiles warmly in answer. They drop Natasha off at her lavish three-room suite first, then Ramonda excuses herself to handle some issue with the catering. "I look forward to at least one dance with you tonight, Steve."

"I would be honored, ma'am." He bows his head graciously and watches her glide off. OKoye takes her place at his side with a somber smile. "How are you?"

" _Not_ looking forward to the nightmare of securing the queen at the gala, or the long hours of mindless political chatter, but other than that…" she tips her perfectly round head from side to side, shrugging. "Better. We rebuild. We honor our lost ones. We find ways to press forward."

"Yeah…" Steve hangs his head as they close in on his side of the guest wing. "Why does it feel like we're constantly running in place, though?"

They stop at the double doors to his suite, which he's been in before, once. He nods firmly at the guard posted a few paces away, establishing eye contact, memorizing the face.

"You and Nat, _doom and gloom_ , all the time." OKoye gives him an exasperated look and he laughs again, letting her ease his tension a bit more. "The queen - _quite_ dramatically, I might add - made me swear I'd remind you not to be late. You'll be escorted to the ceremony from the gardens in one hour, sharp. Your tuxedos are waiting. See you soon."

Steve's face folds inward with embarrassment. "Tuxedos? Plural? Jeez."

"She trusts you with the choice between her commissions, apparently."

 _ **Commissions?**_ Flabbergasted, his eyebrows rise to meet his hairline. _So she does know my measurements._

In answer, OKoye merely winks at him, her eyes gleaming with amusement at his expense. She taps her spear twice in quick succession and his room is opened for him from the inside.

She's turned on her heel and is striding away in a few lythe moves, followed by the porter who'd dropped off his bags and had been making sure everything was in order inside. He watches her go, remembering the look on her face when they lost almost everything four years ago. When she lost her king. A far cry from where she is today.

She'd been absolutely devastated - as if she'd lost a child. It was the one and only time he'd ever seen General OKoye lose her poise. And it was _much_ more than that. The woman had dedicated her life to protecting T'Challa. Losing him in such a cruel way just...thinking about it makes the tension return in full force, so he stops. He can only admire her resilience. He wishes he was holding up half as well as she seems like she is.

Realizing that he's just standing there staring after the general (who is out of sight by now), Steve finally enters his guestroom.

* * *

The large, vibrant two-room suite greets him like sunshine breaking through a long drought of cloudy skies. The pink sunset outside the floor-to-ceiling balcony windows gives the room a lush glow. The light in Africa simply hits the world differently than anywhere else he's seen.

He takes his time exhaling, letting the full weight of his body settle into the floor, feeling tranquility for the first time in such a long time.

He loves it here. He really does. Steve mentally kicks himself for not returning here more often as he makes his way further into the spacious suite and lets his jacket fall to the king-sized bed.

Before he can do much else, he spots a pristinely preserved, bright red, vintage _Radio Flyer_ wagon parked in one corner of the room.

A proper one. He instantly recognizes the white 1920s version of the logo.

Smiling broadly, Steve strides slowly toward it, crouching down to sift through the gifts piled into it. There's no note. He supposes the wagon is commentary enough.

He has to laugh, picking up a jade-accented shaving kit, bundles of spices and a bottle of Wakandan rum from the Merchant Tribe, a beautiful cashmere robe with the Wakandan royal crest hand-stitched across the back, slippers in his size with the same gold stitching, shea butter, aftershave...and much more. The wagon is full.

Steve stands upright again, wondering if she'd done all this for Natasha. He thinks, perhaps not quite with such a personal touch. He tugs on the wagon by its black metal handle, seized with an over eighty-year-old memory of the first time he saw one of these as a little boy and how badly he'd wanted one.

Bucky's uncle had one in his garage. It had a bent handle, but the wheels worked. They used to take turns pulling each other as fast as they could until they felt like they could fly - or they crashed. Or both. If he closes his eyes, he can feel the wind in his hair as a knobby-kneed kid crouched in the back of the wagon, his best friend Bucky running like hell in front of him, pulling him so far and so fast that he truly felt like he was flying. That was the magic of the little things back then. Empty stomachs, but full imaginations.

He focuses on the mint-condition _Flyer_ in his palace suite. This gift is Shuri's way of teasing him, of course, but it's also her way of telling him how much it means to her to have him here. And, honestly, a welcome trip down memory lane. He hasn't felt this kind of pleasant nostalgia in...gosh...ages.

_Shuri...you are something else._

Steve makes a mental note to both thank and tease her about her extravagant generosity later.

As he gets settled, he opens the windows fully, letting the fragrant evening breeze flow in. He avoids checking the closet for as long as he can, choosing to unpack his things onto the spacious bed, and just concentrate on grooming himself properly for now.

A life as a soldier has trained him to clean himself with the utmost efficiency, but tonight that economy is somewhat out the window.

Even though he barely has enough stubble to cast a shadow, he shaves himself smooth again.

He showers, taking extra care in places he normally only gives mild attention.

He makes sure to moisturize his skin with a small helping of the shea butter from the wagon, something he hopes she'll appreciate. He also tells himself that they might have to shake a lot of hands tonight.

Once done, he finds he very much enjoys how he smells. There's a subtle undercurrent of teakwood that he catches fragrant whiffs of as he moves about, as if he was walking through the Wakandan forest a few hours after a fresh rain.

He combs and re-combs his hair until it does what he wants it to do.

He takes unnecessarily extra care making sure everything underneath whatever he'll be wearing is in as perfect condition as he can. He doesn't allow himself to think about why he's doing this with any sort of depth or effort. If he does, he will feel ridiculous, and the memory of Nat's suspicions will start picking apart his resolve.

He needs to think of this as mission prep. A smooth operation depends on it, always.

He's going to be here for Shuri tonight, in any way she needs him. That might entail being dragged around a royal ballroom full of people neither of them want to talk to. The remaining powers and elites left in the world; the ones funding the global recovery efforts, the ones investing in Shuri's humanitarian STEM projects. He knows she'll be the star of the show. That's just the way things are when Queen Shuri is in any room. C _aptain America isn't the hero the world looks up to anymore, she is._

He knows how much pressure that spotlight can put on a person, so he's going to stand in the shadows and silently exude pride and confidence in her, or he's going to dance with her to keep her away from the insatiable press, or tell a few wry jokes to lift her spirits. Whatever she needs.

And he's determined to look good while doing it. Good enough to be worthy of her approval at least, since she seems convinced that he's incapable of mastering any sense of contemporary style. Or _swagger_ , as she calls it.

Once he's spent as much time as he dares preening, he finally opens the massive onyx-colored closet doors and peers inside the walk-in.

There are shelves of shoes, watches and cufflinks, racks of both casual and formal clothes. All for a man about his height, build, and shoe size, he doesn't have to guess. He's going to be in Wakanda with Natasha for a week, but this is more than enough to keep him in three or four fresh outfits a day. Boy, when he was growing up, he couldn't even imagine owning this many things. Shaking his head and sighing like a disapproving old man, Steve walks in and finds a special wrack near the front, holding four brand new tuxedos.

He reaches up and runs his hands across the shoulders of the jackets, each of their textures feeling different to his touch.

He stops on the blue velvet. He has never in his century of existence thought of wearing something like this.

But there is something about the fact that this shade of blue matches his eyes that causes him to ignore the others. They all look very regal and he is sure he would look good in any of them, but he feels compelled to take this one down from its hanging place.

He has a hunch this one might be her choice, too.

The tux pants are black, which relieves him somewhat.

He takes the jacket off of the hanger and holds it out in front of him. Why did she choose this?

Frowning, nervous even, Steve slides his arms into the soft, surprisingly pliable fabric. It indeed feels like it was made just for him. It feels like a second skin, almost. It's not an exact color match, but similar enough that it accentuates his eyes pretty nicely.

Steve checks the time. He has twenty minutes.

The time goes by like a heartbeat. He gets himself fully dressed, secures his black velvet bow tie, and stares at himself in the full-length mirror at the opposite end of the walk-in. Mission accomplished. He looks damned good. He is tempted to call this teamwork.

As he stares at himself, he imagines Queen Shuri setting eyes on him when they're finally together in the same room. Warm blood rushes to the surface of his cheeks before spreading in a flash to the rest of him. His chest swells as his tension coils tightly, slowly, inside him, taunting him.

He wants her to love her handiwork, he admits to himself.

He scoffs at his reflection. Nat's hunch is obviously right.

Shuri's got him wrapped around her little finger.

How the hell did that happen? _When_ did that happen?

 _Does it matter? You like it. You_ _ **want**_ _it. You've wanted it for weeks. Months. Maybe all year. Admit it._

He stares hard at his own reflection, his jaw clenched. He says nothing; his self-deprecating thoughts cease. But he _feels_.. _._ and _yes_...he does like the idea of Shuri doting on him. Admiring his physique in the velvet blue tux she picked out. Smiling that beautiful sunny smile he's convinced himself she reserves just for him. Letting him sneak touches while they dance. Maybe even a chaste kiss at the end of the night...is that such a bad thing to want?

If she grants him those things, would she grant him more? The possibilities of ' _more'_ start to manifest in his mind's eye in quick flashes.

He's going to get hard if he doesn't stop the direction his thoughts are steadily galloping.

 _Shit, Rogers._ _**Fuck.**_ _What happened to pure? Untainted? Good and easy?_

There's a soft knock on his door. His heart leaps into his throat.

The thought of seeing her in person right now, at the very moment he's having a mental come to Jesus about his true feelings for her, is enough to send him into a small panic.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, taking a shallow breath around the brick of tension still sitting hard and heavy inside him, he strides out of the walk-in and to the door.

"Well, don't you shine up like a new quarter?"

It's Natasha. She looks amazing, as usual. Her gown is a form-fitting, floor-length, sleek black crepe with a halter neck made of lace applique that gives the simple silhouette a dramatic flare. Her dark red hair is pulled back, her makeup smoky, her lips bare but for a hint of rouge stain dead center. She is smirking at him again, very much impressed, but also _very_ much still suspicious.

He rolls his eyes, smooths the front of his jacket, and steps out of the room to meet her in the hall.

"Thanks. You look beautiful." Steve leans down and gives her a peck on the cheek, hoping she won't continue with her probing from the Quinjet. Of course, his hopes are immediately dashed.

"The Queen picked this out for you?"

She accepts his arm and they start toward the hall leading down into the gardens, where they'll be picked up and taken to the black-tie event they are both dreading. He can feel the smug perceptiveness wafting off of her as she eyes the velveteen blue of his jacket.

"I mean, she _had_ to. You'd never pick something like this on your own."

Rather than joining in her amiable teasing, he sighs hard and tries not to clench his jaw. "The Queen likes to fix. So, I let her fix. Trust me, I'd hear about it if I didn't."

"A perfect gentleman, as always."

She lets that hang in the air. With gargantuan effort, Steve seizes control of his mounting annoyance, wrenching it back toward his mission to not let anything get under his skin tonight.

"It's just for tonight. Not a big deal. Besides…" he brushes a tiny piece of lint off of his arm, shrugging, "I kinda think it suits me."

"Maybe your fashion sense has hope after all."

He allows himself to relax, chuckling throatily at her joke. Natasha seems relieved that he's lightening up. He thinks about it as they make their way out through the palace gardens towards the glider waiting there for special guests of the royal family. She is trying, as he'd asked. He realizes now that it's kind of a lot to ask, the way she's been dealing with things.

"Hey…" He bumps his elbow into her gently, causing her to turn from admiring the thick plumes of gorgeous, colorful flowers, plants, and fruit trees to regard him curiously. "I owe you one. And you know what? Fuck it. We're gonna have a good time. I'll make sure of it."

Nat's expression softens. She smiles warmly at his use of a real, live dirty word. She squeezes his arm to her side, bringing her free hand up to anchor herself to his sturdy frame. He feels better now. He doesn't want to be at odds with Nat. He cares about her, too. They aren't on the same page all the time, but they've been through a lot together and he counts her as part of his chosen family. He deems it part of tonight's mission to make sure she won't regret agreeing to come.

Now that they've patched things up, his thoughts swing hard toward Shuri.

He'll be seeing her in person again after over a year in just a short while. He isn't sure how he'll greet her yet, but he is now almost one-hundred percent certain that the tension he feels deep down inside has turned into a different kind of beast. It is still as dense and unsatisfying as ever, but it no longer seeks the release of persevering in battle.

It seeks the one person left on Earth who might be able to tame it into submission.

* * *

They're escorted with a handful of other palace guests to a grand banquet hall just a few miles from the Great Mound. These are close friends of the Queen Mother and the elders. The small talk isn't that bad. The scenery and the relative mystery surrounding Shuri's announcement at the event do most of the talking for them. Nat is fluent in Xosha, of course. He's still getting his bearings, a little awkward with pronunciation, but he manages with her help.

As soon as they dismount the glider, however, they're swept into the dense waves of guests arriving at the gala with them. Into the lion's den. Albeit one that resembles an enormous modern art museum.

Steve and Natasha take care of each other well as they navigate a virtual maze of art and guests. All as they'd expected. Politicians, lobbyists, sovereignty from far and wide, international press. Veterans of the Decimation Battle. All here to collectively grieve and pick at each other's scabs. All here to see what one of the world's only surviving geniuses will reveal with great anticipation of either failure or triumph.

"I suddenly recall how much I hate this," he murmurs in Nat's ear and she laughs.

"No turning back now. The queen still hasn't seen how that tux brings out those gorgeous blues of yours."

He pretends not to feel the tension inside him clench with anticipation at her words.

Finally, they find a bar, and at that bar, they find Rhodey and Hill.

"Oh, _thank Christ_. You showed," Hill exhales with relief when they spot each other, gesturing for Nat and Steve to join them.

"Long time, have a shot," Rhodey hands Nat a drink, which she eagerly snatches up, and embraces Steve. He steps back from their long hug, letting out a low whistle. " _Okay_ , Rogers. Who are we trying to impress tonight?"

"No one, I just…" Steve speaks up quickly before Nat can get a word in, catching her in the act, "thought I'd make an effort this year. Have some fun."

"Ha!" Rhodey barks with laughter, "The Captain of Propriety, crashin' a memorial event? I knew there was a reason I got on that plane this morning."

"Really brings out your eyes, Cap," Hill compliments him teasingly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks." He accepts a drink that he knows he won't feel from Rhodey and uses it as a prop to help him relax and enjoy himself.

But he's already totally distracted by the time his old friends fall into easy banter in their huddle by the bar. Nat and Hill work the room under their breath, identifying whom to avoid. Rhodey occasionally spots someone he hates and offers comment. Steve, however, is constantly checking for Shuri, or OKoye, or the Queen Mother, or any sign that might indicate the royal court has arrived. There are Dora Milaje at every corner, entrance and exit in the place, but no general and no royals so far. He's tempted to hail Okoye by kimoyo but swallows down the urge.

Nat can read him like a coverless book, but now he's not even trying to hide his anxiousness to see _her_.

This doesn't go unnoticed.

Rhodey trails off sending snide jabs under his breath about some press members who criticized him as the new Iron Man. He eyes Steve, who isn't paying attention and hasn't been for at least ten minutes. He's laughing when he thinks Rhodey is joking, nodding when he thinks he should agree with something, making noises in the back of his throat as some kind of commentary, but his _real_ focus is actually on the very front of the large, open hall they're in. Rhodey's eyes roam from Rogers' distracted face in the direction of the super soldier's darting gazes.

The Wakandan crest adorns a throne on a dais at the head of the room. Just in front of it, there's a podium with holoprompters on either side of it for Queen Shuri's speech. There's a row of African and other international flags, and more gilded seats for her mother and the council members. No royal court yet, but then Rhodey thinks Steve will probably be the first to know when they arrive, he's eyeballing the empty space so damn hard.

"Are you kidding me?" Hill's sharp, indignant tone interrupts Rhodey's study of Cap's interesting fixation on the empty throne. "Rhodes, you hearing this? Nat and Cap got personal invitations to stay in the palace."

"Ouch. Damn. I feel a little hurt," Rhodey deadpans, still eyeing Steve as he sips his drink. "I thought the Avengers and the queen were close like that. We don't _all_ get palace suites?"

Rogers drags his eyes away from the front and shifts on his feet, clearing his throat distractedly.

"Well, uh Shuri - _the queen -_ invited me last minute," he supplies, now acutely aware that all of his friends are staring at him. "Just for support. I think all the hotels are booked up, anyway, right Nat?"

This isn't untrue. Shuri had insisted when he protested staying at the palace that he didn't really have a choice. So he assumed. Not a total lie. A good guess, more like. Except, he sounds like he's hiding something and it doesn't help that Natasha is leaving him hanging. She sips her cocktail, her signature little smirk dancing on the edge of her glass, before finally coming to his rescue.

"Yeah, total nightmare. Anyway, Steve's got connections with the royals. Remember?"

Her eyes glint with a challenge. He stands up flagpole straight, aware that the others are waiting for his rebuttal, and stares her down.

"Connections, huh?" Hill exchanges glances with Nat and then Rhodey, who cottons on.

"Okay, so what's a brotha with a spinal injury gotta do to get a night in some of those royal satin sheets, save the world?"

Steve can tell that Rhodey hadn't intended to sound so bitter just then but, all the same, it leaves a crater in their relaxed energy. Everyone awkwardly sips their drinks, including Steve, who really wishes he wasn't stone sober right now. He glances around at all the faces moving in and out of his view.

People stare; whisper to themselves about the battle-scarred Avengers; eyeball Rhodey with the words ' _you're no Tony Stark'_ etched into their expressions; frown at Nat thoughtfully as if (like she'd been nervous about) she's been misleading the world in her position as Director of Avengers HQ. All of them with gigantic shoes (and an even bigger ego) to fill. Steve on the outside, with his 'connections'. He doesn't want to look closely enough to figure out what the sea tide of guests might be thinking about _him_ , the Man ( _Who Is Always)_ Out of Time.

Steve smiles sadly and reaches over to clasp his friend by the shoulder. "Why don't ya just ask, pal? The queen loves you."

Rhodey scoffs, but his smile returns as well. " _Whaaat?_ We've barely spoken."

Steve shrugs good-naturedly, taking another swig of his drink. It burns going down, but it won't bring him a buzz. Doesn't matter. His mission is to have a good time, so that's what he's going to do.

"Yeah, but she talks about you all the time. Specifically, getting her hands on the Iron Man suit."

This piques Rhodey's interest. In Tony's wake, he's been doing his best, but he is no tech genius. The suit has regular (automated) repairs, but future improvements have been worrying him, Steve knows.

"Yeah? You think she'd hook me up?"

"I could ask if she'd have us at her lab before you go. Talk it over. What can it hurt?"

"Okay…" Rhodey looks thoughtful, but also a lot less bitter and a lot more relaxed. "Bet."

This seems to make up for the whole 'personal invitation to the palace' thing. More importantly, Steve has managed to change the subject from the nature of his relationship with Queen Shuri.

Natasha says nothing, watching him with keen interest as Hill and Rhodey accept the idea. They start chatting about what they could use Shuri's help with back at Stark Tower and Avengers HQ.

 _Real smooth_ , Nat mouths, her lips barely moving. It's his turn to smirk.

In an instant, the bright lights in the museum-style hall drop to cool darkness, hushing the crowd. The Dora surrounding them all tap their spears in unison, bringing up carefully curated mood lighting and cueing the drumbeat that announces the arrival of the royal court. Steve's heart leaps into his throat. He drops all pretense and turns from his friends to stare up at the dais.

First, Okoye, followed by the royal council and the Queen Mother. Ramonda looks stunning, of course, her towering, circular headdress a sparkling black that compliments her couture black and purple Ankara-patterned gown beautifully. The gown flares out around her just below her hips, making her look as if she's floating on air. Her eyes survey the crowd serenely, lighting up a bit when they pass over Steve, Nat, and the others.

OKoye taps her spear, again followed by her Dora surrounding them on all sides. Steve's heart is pounding so hard in his throat that it almost drowns out the vibranium reverberating through the room. "Her Majesty, the Queen, Shuri…" the General announces with great reverence and pride.

The drums and instruments playing the royal accompaniment get louder and change tempo. Applause rings out as Shuri makes her way onto the dais. All the blood in his body rushes through him violently when he sees her step into the ethereal lighting. He involuntarily holds his breath.

In the flesh, she looks every bit a captivating queen in a skin-tight, royal blue, lace mermaid gown.

Her hair is in thick twists that hang down over one elegant shoulder, almost hiding her face from him, topped off by an intricately weaved vibranium crown that looks as if it's part of her.

His keen eyesight focuses on every detail as she glides with grace and poise across the stage to the podium. Her skin sparkles, looking as lush as satin under the moody lighting. The crowd gives her a few minutes more of deafening applause as she comes to a stop and turns to face them all, her beautiful smile spreading when her eyes land on him.

All of the rest falls away, and there is only Queen Shuri standing there looking like a dream.

He remembers to breathe and exhales slowly. _Damn._

She is _truly_ beautiful. It pains him a little that it's just now _really_ hitting him how absolutely gorgeous she is, a fully realized queen of one of the greatest nations left on Earth. There is no trace of the bubbly teenager he met on his first visit to Wakanda what seems like ages ago.

Their eye contact only lasts a few seconds, but she lights up somewhat when she sees he's wearing the blue tux. She gives him a tiny nod of approval and it's enough to make him blush like a schoolboy.

"Close your mouth, Steve," Natasha mutters, suddenly standing right next to him.

"You're hilarious," he quips, swallowing down more useless alcohol to cover up his gawking.

"And _you_ are being completely obvious," there is an edge to her tone that causes him to force his eyes away from Shuri and look down at her. "World's watching. Just sayin'. Careful with that."

Her eyes swing toward the dais and back but he understands her perfectly. She's concerned about their floundering reputation. Concerned about the impression they make. But she has to know he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their relationships with other nations or the cooperation with and autonomy they receive from the U.N. by admiring one of its more influential members too openly. Still, he puts on the best poker face he can and tries to pay attention to the proceedings as they get underway.

But the tension inside him has no intention of cooperating. It builds, solidifies, gnaws at him as he stares up to the front of the room. Counting the seconds until the queen can step down from there, wade into the crowd, and come to him.


	3. "May I have this dance, your Majesty?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally gets to be near Shuri, which is enough to obliterate his self-control. He gets the courage to take the first step with Shuri. His trademark honesty, however, sends him two steps back.

_**D-DAY ANNIVERSARY GALA** _

_**1 HOUR LATER** _

* * *

Shuri's presentation was nothing short of a marvel.

She'd spent the last year designing something Tony Stark only dreamed of but never came close to actually achieving. A suit of armor around the world. Ten domes to start, placed in the most vulnerable nations chosen by the U.N. They improve on the singular technology that Wakanda has used for centuries to conceal itself and protect itself from the rest of the world.

What she has done sends tidal waves of hope, skepticism, awe, and excitement through the normally somber affair. She has effectively turned a memorium into a celebration - a dedication to the lives they lost by protecting those that remain far better than they ever had.

When her presentation is done, the great hall is consumed by applause and chatter for a solid ten minutes. Shuri and the royal council, joined by key U.N. officials who've partnered with her to roll out the Dome Initiative, stand and receive graciously until Okoye and the Dora tap to announce dinner.

Steve doesn't get to come anywhere close to Shuri for another hour.

His tension hardens to steel inside, his poker face firmly in place, and he clamps down on his raging desire to seek her out.

The crowd is escorted outside through the opening walls of the dais, which slide back to reveal a spacious garden dining area under a large, luminous moon. The land is elevated somewhat; he can make out the sparkling lights of Central Wakanda below them.

There are rows and rows of long, opulently decorated tables and what looks like a hundred royal servers standing at attention to greet them.

Steve escorts Hill and Nat outside on either arm, Rhodey taking up the rear as he chats with someone he actually likes. Everyone is talking about the domes, about Shuri's brilliance. How long it will take to implement her program all over the world, what this means for global military relations, sanctions, ratified treaties that need review with this new development. Some blowhards, Steve overhears, even compare it to an arms race - could the tech be replicated; would it end up on the private market like Stark's war machines before he became Iron Man the philanthropist and hero?

It's enough to make him want to turn and head back to the palace. But he's here for Shuri.

He isn't leaving until he has a dance with her. _Just one dance. That's not too much to want._

Eventually, once they're all seated and being served, the Queen and Queen Mother venture outside to join them. Shuri's a knockout, her smile as radiant as ever as she glides up to the head of their center table and bows graciously to yet more applause.

Once she's seated, however, the questions begin. Virtually the entire dinner is full of them.

Steve, Natasha, Hill, and Rhodey spend the meal sending each other looks and holding back heated commentary as they listen to the attendees around them pelt questions about her work to her.

He gets a little upset, even, drawing more than one kick from Natasha under the table. He clenches his jaw and his fist tightens threateningly around his fork when some Nobel Prize-winning journalist from Belgium asks the Queen if she isn't just dooming the world to more powerful threats than Thanos with this show of technological might. Questioning her motives, her ego; comparing it to Stark's.

"Tony Stark was a hero," a fed up Rhodey interjects loudly, drawing hundreds of eyes their way.

Steve says nothing, sitting rigidly, the tension inside him hard and heavy.

"And I for one am grateful to the Queen for her dedication to completing his vision." Rhodey raises his glass to her, a soft smile emerging as he does so. "Thank you, your Majesty. This is a night we'll never forget."

"The Avengers stand with Wakanda," Captain America finally adds, appreciating his friend's candor. He raises his glass, his eyes only for Shuri. She is far down at the end of the table, but their gazes lock and he can see gratitude and relief in her eyes that they have her back. "We'll help however we can."

Nat and Hill follow suit, and soon the rest of the table, effectively silencing the naysayers. For now.

"Wakanda appreciates the Avengers for their support," Shuri grants in a smooth, regal tone, making his chest swell with pride to call her a close friend. "Now I suggest we all stop talking business and enjoy this gorgeous night together," she announces to the garden at large. Being the queen, the crowd hushes its chatter to hear her. She stands, her eyes rising to sweep across the table, glancing over his and lingering on him purposefully. "I think I'm in the mood to dance. Everyone?"

There is applause in agreement all around them, and he can only sit back and admire how easily she commands a room. More importantly - she has just invited him to dance. His tension gnashes at his insides with fervor. The crowd drowns out his deep inhalation as everyone gets to their feet.

"Jesus, she's got them all eating out of her palm," Hill intones, impressed, as everyone follows her lead back into the grand, museum-like hall. "Not even King T'Challa could work a room like this."

"I'm over here taking notes..." Natasha mutters in response, raising an approving eyebrow as she watches the queen collect her mother and walk arm-in-arm with her inside for the first dance.

The royal band starts a jaunty, infectious, celebratory tune as soon as the Queen sets foot on the floor. She and her mother move easily to the beat, their energy and spirit flooding through the gathering crowd as everyone watches and claps or sings along. Wakandan citizens join in from all five tribes, all moving around their queen in a well-practiced traditional dance. Steve, Rhodey, Nat, and Hill look on as the family, friends, and council members who lost their king, warrior, and half their loved ones show the world their strength and perseverance through dance.

He only has eyes for Shuri, however, watching her sway her hips sensually, then effortlessly switch to strutting powerfully with her kinfolk to the increasingly intense drums playing out a modified version of what his ears recognize as T'Challa (and before him T'Chaka)'s old theme. He realizes that there is a new instrument, one high and sweet, that's been introduced, changing it. It reminds him of Shuri. At this point, she is the center of his and everyone else's focus. How could she not be?

She moves toward him in the dancing circle, reaching out her hand for him and Natasha.

Steve accepts, entering the circle and doing his best to keep up, unable to take his eyes off of her.

She smiles warmly, happily, up at him as their fingers lace together, Natasha joining her on the other side between the Queen Mother and Okoye. "Didn't see that one coming, did you?" Shuri mutters, pretending to instruct him on the right timing of his steps. He shakes his head, marveling at her brilliance for the umpteenth time that night.

"Not at all, your Majesty," he confesses, letting her see just how impressed and captivated he is as he holds his own with the traditional dance moves.

She rolls her eyes and pokes him with a slender finger. "Enough with the 'your majesty' stuff, Mr. Blue Suit! Dance! _Faster!_ "

Steve laughs and shakes his head at her teasing, but does as she asks without question.

They dance faster. The spinning, stomping circle picks up more people around it, eventually sweeping up Hill and Rhodey in the human chain, too. The drums get louder, the circle picks up more people, their stomping feet and calls of celebration and mourning alike filling the space, bouncing off the art, flowing out into the night on the fragrant Wakandan breeze that sweeps through the room.

Then, the Dora Milaje takes over as the band smoothly transitions to a traditional Wakandan war beat. The female soldiers tap their spears to the beat, dancing with power and precision that temporarily stuns the crowd's movement. They snake their way in lines that form a star pattern through the crowd, joining together in the center to command focus. Okoye stomps her way over to head up their ranks, leading them in a mesmerizing routine that sends chills and exclamations through the crowd.

Steve himself is simply delighted to have Shuri keep hold of his hand when their human circle gets broken up. She dances around him like a cape on display by a matador. He tries not to let his pride and awe cause all of the blood to rush to his cheeks (or much further south) as he holds her hand and lets her use him however she likes to show off her dance moves.

He tries not to stare, but by now Nat's warning about impropriety is a foggy memory. His awareness of his surroundings; of who might be watching; has dimmed, obscured by a hazy cloud of _want_. He wants her closer. He wants to look into her eyes, see if he can recognize the same things inside her that are inside him. The sharp edge of recognition stabs at the tension churning and burning inside him like magma in its rawest form.

He gets his cue. The tempo transitions yet again - the royal band is remarkably skilled at this - and dives into a more intimate, somber waltz. Before he can stop it, Steve's free hand is sliding across the intricate, hand-stitched lace covering Shuri's torso, hooking around her slender waist, and pulling her closer to him.

He towers over her, gently maneuvering her into position so he can lead her in the one dance they'll have tonight that he actually knows. Shuri's eyes rise to meet his, her cool grin melting into a soft, somewhat apprehensive pursing of her lips.

"May I have this dance, your Majesty?" Steve breathes.

"You may." She nods, smirking at his formalness and use of her sovereign moniker, her hand sliding up his arm, caressing the velveteen fabric of his tux as she goes. She gets into position and he begins to lead her around the center of the dance floor. He tries to perform the dance properly, like a gentleman, but he can't help holding her just a little closer than necessary. They don't break eye contact.

"Honestly, though," he whispers down at her, unable to help the tenderness in his voice, "you were _amazing_ tonight, Shuri."

"Really?" She sounds like that sweet teenager again as she gazes up at him, the tawny iridescence of her mocha eyes flickering with self-doubt. "I don't know. I feel like I'm going to get ripped apart in the press once all this is over," she gestures with her chin at their opulent surroundings.

Steve can't even bring himself to take his eyes off of her, ignoring everyone and everything around them as he tugs her just a little bit closer. "I think Tony would be honored. Rhodey is. _I_ am. The press will come around. Well, some won't." He shrugs, making her chuckle. "Does it matter? You're doing the right thing."

"Thank you. I'm so glad you came, Steve," Shuri sighs up at him, leaning into him. He inhales her scent, smelling the flowers in the royal garden, spices from the shea butter she's wearing, essential oils in her long, twisted locs, and something just so fresh and light and _Shuri_ that he's close to leaning in and inhaling his fill from the crook of her elegant neck. _Like sunshine_ , he thinks. "And I _knew_ it! That shade of blue goes perfectly with Captain America's dreamy eyes, eh?"

Now she's teasing him, but his tension is churning too hard and too intensely for him to feel embarrassed. He gazes down at her, sweeping her around the dance floor without having to pay attention to the familiar steps of the waltz. The cocktail of serious reverence and...yes...desire...present in his 'dreamy eyes' render Shuri speechless. She loses her snarky expression under the intensity of Steve's gaze. "You like it? I wanted to impress you tonight. Did it work?"

"It did. Of course. I keep telling you, I have amazing taste." She tries again to re-establish their normally droll banter, but he doesn't want to let go of this moment yet.

"Did you pick this out for me just to gloat?" He twirls her, dips her, brings her back up slowly. "Or was this the same as the wagon, the gifts, the royal suite…?"

"What do you mean?" She frowns a little, causing him to tighten his grips on her hand and waist. He can't help it. His tension gnashes impatiently. If he wasn't still vaguely aware of the huge crowd surrounding them (Natasha somewhere in there no doubt watching his every move), he would lean in and whisper his answer with all of the affection he's feeling right now on full display.

"I mean…" he takes a deep breath and lets it out, his chest inflating and deflating slowly against hers, filling the small space between them. "You don't have to commission tuxes or bid on vintage wagons on eBay to get me around, Shuri. Just say the word, and I'm here. I'll _always_ be here for you."

 _Even if all you want is for someone to make you feel good._ He thinks; doesn't say.

But she knows. She can see it written all over his face, etched into the azure eyes that match the tux she so carefully picked out for him. With him in his tux and her in her royal blue gown, they look an equal and opposite match gliding around the dance floor. Most of the crowd has stopped dancing in favor of watching. They look that good, that coordinated and in tune with one another; totally in their own world together.

Shuri's eyes darken just a bit, and Steve's heart pounds. He thinks he can see it. The same tension, burning deep down inside her, longing for release.

"What exactly are you offering, Steve?"

His eyes fall from hers to her neck, the intricate details of her gown as the lace stretches across her chest, her lips, her incredibly delectable-looking skin. He shakes his head very slowly, his breath turning shallow as he tries not to let his thoughts - thoughts he scarcely allows to manifest for fear of their overwhelming intensity - show all over his face.

"I'm offering whatever my Queen desires."

He emphasizes the last three words, his eyes boring into hers. It's her turn to get caught up in her breath. He can't quite read her reaction and isn't given the time, because the waltz is over and applause has invaded their intimate little bubble.

Another song strikes up, and now Ramonda is striding confidently toward him and Shuri. He reluctantly releases the Wakandan Queen and tries to bow as graciously as he can. Ramonda takes Shuri's place and Steve is struck by just how close he'd come to leaning in and kissing this woman's daughter right in front of every international person of importance left in the world. _Way to go, Rogers,_ he thinks as he carefully constructs a mask of polite mirth for the Queen Mother. _Nat's never gonna let you live this down._

Shuri is swept away by one of the council members from the River Tribe, out of his reach and sight. Ramonda only offers gracious small talk about the evening's success as they dance, but there is a gleam in her eyes that makes him fear he's given himself away tonight, _big time_. He can't even tell when exactly his act fell to shambles (if one could even call it that), but he knows he's good and fucked by the time the dance is over and the lights change for the _In Memorium_ portion of the proceedings.

His suspicion is confirmed by the look on Natasha's face when she finds him and makes her way over. She turns to him without hesitation as the holographic film memorializing their most famous lost ones plays out above their heads. "What part of ' _be careful, the world is watching'_ did I not make clear?"

"Give it a rest, Nat," he grunts under his breath, avoiding eye contact in favor of torturing himself with the faces of the Snapped. "It was just a dance. I promised her I would."

Natasha glares up at him for a while, but relents when he refuses to bend to her will. She doesn't look as if she has much will to argue, though, choosing to find the bar again. Hill and Rhodey join her. Steve only stays long enough to grab another useless drink and then wanders off to look at some of the art. The gala is wrapping up soon, and he still hasn't taken any time to really study any of it.

He mostly just wants to be alone with his thoughts. How is he going to get himself out of this?

 _Can_ he? He wanders through the spacious halls, nodding in greeting to a stationed Dora whenever he passes her. _Do you even want to_ , his mind tugs at his resolve. He knows the answer is no. He wants to let this feeling inside him pull him forward until he discovers its destination - he wants to throw himself into something other than grief for once. But not just anything. _Shuri._ He wants Shuri.

Fuck.

Steve stands beneath an abstract mural of the Black Panther lineage. Bast gazes down at him from her protective stance above her bloodline, connected through the magic of the Heart-Shaped Herb. He had studied the lore, and knew from many conversations with T'Challa and Shuri, that Bast was this country's great warrior goddess. The spirit that gave Wakanda its might, its longevity, its thriving success on Earth.

"Got any romantic advice for an old, out-of-touch soldier?" He mutters up at her, sipping his gin. She says nothing, her gleaming eyes boring into his soul. "Right. I'm not even close to worthy of her, am I?"

"Trust a centurion to be the one wandering around talking to himself at a party…"

The sound of her high, sweet voice causes his tension to grip him viciously. He turns to see Shuri approaching, her gown making it look as if her feet aren't touching the ground.

She stops just out of his reach. He straightens up, reminding himself that she is a _queen_ , and (even though they're pretty much alone back this far inside the gallery area) that the 'world is watching'. At the very least, a couple of eagle-eyed Dora.

"Overactive mind," he gestures with his cocktail glass to his temple. "Occupational hazard."

Shuri hugs herself, gazing up at him with such vulnerability that it takes him by surprise. Shit. He hopes he hasn't screwed up their friendship by getting carried away with his confusing feelings.

"Steve, I…" she looks down at her hands, swallowing her apprehension. "Do you know why I can't sleep these days? It's not the same as before when I was a child. Now, it's because I can't stop thinking about them. All of them. The ones we lost."

He braces himself. This is the last subject he wants to discuss, even though he knows that's too much to expect, given their surroundings and the occasion.

"I couldn't get them out of my head. Especially...him." She doesn't say his name, but Steve knows she isn't speaking about her brother. "Except, the thing is, whenever I hear _your_ voice, all of that disappears. You make me feel like what we fought for, what we lost, it _wasn't_ all for nothing."

It's his turn to frown. He doesn't know where she's going with this, but he cannot help being affected by how beautiful she is so vulnerable like this. She wrings her hands, her expression torn. He takes a small step toward her, wanting so badly to comfort her - physically this time - that it almost obliterates his self-control. Everything about her challenges the soldier's discipline in him, he realizes. He fears it, but he covets it.

"I don't want that to change. I don't want to lose that." She takes a step forward, too, tilting her head back to meet his eyes, he towers over her so. "You have _no idea_ how much your friendship has meant to me over the years."

"I think I do, Shuri," he sighs hard, taking a leap of faith, closing the space. He doesn't touch, not yet. He holds his body in check, but he lets the full force of his feelings show in the eyes she likes so much. "And you _won't_ lose that. Ever. I meant what I said...I'll always be here for you. Always."

Unable to stop himself, he lets his arm encircle her gently, tugging her closer. She braces herself with her hands on his chest, but she doesn't protest. He gazes down at her, desperate to lean in and kiss her, utterly smitten. His keen eyes roam over her exquisite visage, stopping to admire her lips. There's a soft pink tint to them tonight, he notices for the first time. He wants to kiss off the inviting color; taste it on his own lips and tongue. He _**wants**_. God, _yes_ , he wants her.

That's what this tension he's been feeling for weeks; _months_ ; is. Unrelenting, uncompromising desire.

"You make it impossible for a man not to fall in love with you, your Majesty…" he whispers, leaning down further, trapping her in his gaze. "I can see it, now."

"Oh yeah?" She unleashes a slightly playful grin, causing that furnace heat to spark and travel through him at lightning speed. "What do you think you see, Rogers?"

And he tells the boldfaced truth; exactly what he's thinking; _without_ thinking. "I can see why Bucky fell so damn hard. Why he never planned on leaving Wakanda after someone like you came into his life. _Saved_ his life. Like you're saving mine."

Shuri blinks. Stiffens. And forcibly steps out of his arms. His heart drops clean through the floor.

He has just totally ruined the moment. His goddamned honesty has just lost him the one thing he'd wanted to have tonight...her. _Fuck, fuck,_ _ **fuck**_ _._ He knows it...he lost her.

Shuri swallows hard and smooths the front of her gown before drawing her slender body up to its full height. She looks every bit a queen forced to put one of her subjects in his proper place just now.

" _Ingcuka_ was my protector. He served me well." Queen Shuri informs him sternly, as if he had no idea what he was talking about. "I cared for him. He was my friend. He was _your_ friend."

Her tone is slightly accusatory, which ignites a stubborn flare of anger that she was throwing this in his face as if confessing his feelings was some sort of betrayal. "Yeah. He _was_."

He stresses the 'was', challenging her. She raises an eyebrow at him, her lips parting slightly. He isn't backing down the way she'd expected. The loyal, highly-moral Captain America the world used to idolize isn't standing before her right now. The only person here tonight is Steve Rogers. Grieving, yes. Terrified, for sure. But _wanting_...above all... _ **wanting**_. Right now, after all these years, he allows himself to be selfish. Just this once. Just tonight.

Is Shuri such a bad thing to want? Even knowing that at one time, she might've belonged to his best friend? His best friend is dust. His tension; his _desire_ ; remains. As solid and bitterly unsatisfied as ever. Tonight, for Steve, the here and now take priority. He watches Shuri to see which way she will fall.

She doesn't. There is a loud _tap-tapping_ of the Dora spears, announcing that the evening is coming to a close. Shuri holds herself up, her hand clasping her own waist, and takes a few steps backward.

"You don't want to miss your ride back to the palace," she breathes, blinking back emotion. She looks down at the marble flooring, and when she meets his eyes again her demeanor has changed. She's retreating, and there's no changing her mind now. "I'll see you tomorrow, Steve. Goodnight."

She doesn't move for a beat as he stares her down, pleading with his eyes for her to stay, say something more. At least acknowledge that they have something between them that is more than friendship. But she doesn't. Three Dora come to collect her and she leaves with them.

Steve tosses back the last of his gin.

He is terrified.

Because he knows he can't stop now. Not only could he be forced to leave Wakanda without satisfaction or closure, but he might have now just changed their relationship forever. She might never get close to him again, for fear that he'd draw her in with his rapidly growing feelings for her.

He's also terrified because now that he understands those feelings - now that he knows for certain that his tension will not be satisfied until he has her in his arms again - there is no turning back.

Steve Rogers wants someone - _badly_ \- for the first time in seventy years. He doesn't know if he'll be able to stop wanting her, now. He doesn't let himself even debate the lengths he'll go, the things he'll sacrifice, to have what he wants.

Queen Shuri, in his bed, every night, every day, for as many nights and days as she'll allow him.


	4. "Thank me for your gifts, Captain."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri can't sleep. Neither can Steve. They meet in the middle, and finally give in to what they both know they've been feeling for one another for a long time, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is therapy for me, whichever form it takes. Fanfiction, poetry, short stories, even the writing I do for work, in its own way, helps me cope. Chadwick Boseman's passing has been really hard for all of the fandom, myself included. I hope this offers some small little form of escape if you're feeling emotionally overwhelmed. Take care and enjoy.
> 
> -MM

_**THE QUEEN'S BEDROOMS** _

_**HOURS LATER** _

* * *

At twelve-past-three in the morning, Shuri is wide awake, staring at her high ceiling.

She cannot stop thinking about the look on Steve's face when he held her close by Bast's mural.

That _look_ in his honest, impassioned eyes. Smoldering, _blazing_ , so heated she felt he'd burn her.

She's never seen him like this. _Felt_ him like this.

His solid, warm body tense. His strong hands applying pressure, pulling her into his orbit.

The way his voice lowered to a rugged baritone. Daring her. His words more intimate and revealing of his inner thoughts than any joking innuendo they'd ever exchanged as friends. Are they even still friends anymore? Had she ruined that? Would he?

He wants to be more. There's no longer any doubt of that in her mind.

In truth, Shrui struggles to know exactly what _she_ wants.

 _Be honest with yourself. You've been baiting him. You've been too damn curious for your own good. Why did you have to go and pull on that thread?_ Her mind frets at her as she lays in the dark.

Part of her has always seen it, hidden just under the surface of his obliging attention, his gentle gaze, his endless patience for her teasing. The way he's always there to answer whenever she calls - _whenever_ \- day or night, sleeping or not, and often in the middle of the night.

Every time, he looks glad to see her. Like she's tossing him a life jacket to keep him from drowning.

And that part of her that is _always_ curious, always hungry to _know_ , just kept pulling and pulling.

Without even noticing, she got used to the way his eyes lit up when they talked, his easy smile, his deep, charming voice - and now she depends on it. Even _craves_ it. Especially during times like now, when her thoughts are a jumble, a hurricane, a neverending racket preventing her from sleep. She was telling the truth at the gala. His voice, his kindness, everything about him soothes and makes her feel safe, like he'll catch her before she goes spinning off of the face of the Earth into space.

But it's not that simple. It can never be.

Deep down inside, where she keeps her grief buried in an iron box wrapped in chains and bolted shut, she longs for her Ingcuka. Though they never made it to a place where they could be together freely, openly, Bucky willingly became hers over the two and a half years he spent in her kingdom, learning from and protecting her. All of him, he confessed one beautiful night under the stars; their first time fully embracing their love for one another. His eyes, just as kind as Steve's, if not more so. His deadly skills. His unwavering loyalty. His quiet reverence and devotion. His mind, body, heart, and soul. _All yours, doll,_ he told her over and over as they made love. _Sweet Sunshine_ , he would call her _, I'm all yours._

And he would wrap her up in his arms, covering her entire body with his, making her feel safe, almost invincible as long as they were together, whether they could be open about it or not. Nothing would _ever_ break them apart. She was so young, so in love, _so naive_ to believe she'd never lose him.

The queen crushes her eyes shut, holding her breath, forcing those memories away into the dark recesses of her mind again. Thinking of Bucky is too painful. Thinking of losing him, and T'Challa, and half her kingdom is always, _always_ too painful. Even after four long years.

They're gone forever and all she has left is a kingdom to shepherd out of darkness, her survivor's guilt, and her inexplicable desire to hear that old fashioned Brooklyn drawl in _Steve's_ voice, see that kindness reflected back at her in _his_ eyes.

Shuri moans quietly, angry with herself. Frustrated to the point of tears.

She can have anyone. All she needs to do is step outside her palace and beckon with a look or a command. Instead, she chose to project her desires across the Atlantic, to a man who is grieving just as hard as she is. _Come to me_ , she called...and he answered.

It was that feeling, that need, driving her to keep calling over the years; keep teasing, keep pulling him toward her... _come to me_ , she said with her late-night calls and lavish gifts. _Come to me_ , she bade the _other_ loyal American super-soldier when she chose the gown she wore tonight.

"Selfish. _Reckless._ " She mutters to no one in her practically chasmal bedroom, clawing at the soft sheets in her lush queen-sized bed. Her empty, lonely bed.

She wanted him close, she got her wish, and then she ran away. She didn't expect him to say those things. So openly. So unequivocally. Not a boy scout like Steve Rogers. But she _liked_ it. So much, in fact, that it frightened her.

_You make it impossible for a man not to fall in love with you, your Majesty._

_I can see it...why Bucky fell so...damn...hard._

Hard.

She could feel Steve was becoming aroused when he held her close.

In truth, she's been thinking about _that_ part just as much as everything else. She's nearly soaked through the crotch of her panties, thinking about it so intensely.

She lays on her back, her mind showing her a perfect memory of his burning blue eyes. She can still feel his caressing, clutching fingers heating her skin through the lace of her dress. His massive chest pushing into hers. His thick, pink lips inching closer and closer.

Shuri realizes she isn't breathing, and inhales deeply, warmth fluttering in her chest, spreading through her to stimulate the rest of her senses. Slithering down between her legs to heat her core, make her squirm and rub her smooth thighs together for some phantom satisfaction.

The guilt, the grief, the aching and longing for a deep love she barely got to experience and might never again...none of it can drown out the prowling, steamy - and yes, selfish - desire she feels when she thinks of Steve Rogers in that damned blue velvet tux. Begging her with his serious azure eyes for permission to fuck her into oblivion.

And why shouldn't she let him? Why shouldn't she take what she wants, too?

_What would Ingcuka think? Steve was his friend._

_Yeah. He_ _**was.** _

"But you're gone forever, aren't you, my love?" Shuri whispers.

Her words float away and disappear into the spacious, luxurious surroundings. There is no one to answer her. Only the guards posted outside, silent and vigilant but distant all the same. She knows them all, grew up watching them train, knows their families. She loves them, as she loves all her people, but it isn't the same as what she found with Bucky. Her people love her like fire loves oxygen. They both fuel and deplete her. Reaching toward her for her guidance, her wisdom, her strength. Lifting her up, holding her tightly, at times to the point of suffocation, not wishing to lose their queen the way they lost two of their kings. Demanding she never disappear. Crying out to her to heal them of their trauma. Yes, she loves them and is determined never to leave them, but all the while she longs for some small form of escape. Her work cannot be that for her the way it used to when she was young.

There is no Big Brother or Baba to guide her, no White Wolf to back her up and then love her up.

Her mother waits and watches for her to leave her solitude, stop hiding behind her work, find love, find peace...find the will to start a family, continue their legacy.

All Shuri wants in this moment is to feel something other than grief, confusion, guilt, and frustration.

She bites her lip and squirms some more, closing her eyes to picture Steve's face as he danced with her, held her, confessed to her…damn it.

With a shallow huff of breath, the young queen sits up straight, her long twists falling across her shoulders to swing into place against her back. She looks around, the shadows taunting her.

A fissure of heat has opened up deep within her, oscillating outward, making her skin feel hypersensitive everywhere. Her thoughts begin to turn toward acceptance. She begins to make up her mind.

_Whatever my Queen desires._

Shuri begins to picture Steve Rogers covering her body with his. Kissing her all over. Holding her down, fucking her _hard_.

She sighs, tosses her covers back, and gets up out of bed. She doesn't think anymore, she just moves - grabbing her long, flowing satin robe and throwing it on. She pulls her hair out of the collar to fall across her shoulders and walks to the doors closing her off from the rest of the palace.

Her personal Dora bodyguard, Idi, opens her eyes from a quick power nap as soon as the queen steps a toe outside the room. Idi straightens up and steps forward, concern filling her large hazel eyes as she whispers, "My queen, are you alright?"

Shuri holds up a hand for Idi to stop and speak no more, which the Dora immediately obeys. She reaches out for Idi's free hand and pulls her close so she can speak as low as possible. "I can't sleep, but I'm fine. I'm going for a walk, _alone_."

Shuri lingers in their eye contact, making sure Idi understands that she is to tell no one and that her queen does not wish to be disturbed.

She nods dutifully, squeezes Shuri's hand, and steps back to reassume her guard post. Shuri pauses to watch as Idi taps her spear gently, the sound a soft vibration instead of the usual booming signal. They wait...and then there are a series of corresponding, though very faint, taps in response echoing toward them through the cavernous halls.

Shuri nods her thanks and hurries away toward the guest wings.

The moonlight and the lights of the kingdom below halo her as it cascades through the large windows she passes by. Thankfully, neither her mother or any of the other guests appear to be awake or around.

Every guard she passes dutifully turns their heads so that they cannot see her. If they cannot see her, then she _isn't_ out roaming the palace in the middle of the night, headed to spend the rest of it with one of her most recognizable guests. Palace secrets almost never get leaked to the Wakandan press or anywhere else but Shuri can't be too careful. Especially given the fact that they have so many international guests and members of the media in the kingdom right now.

Those concerns disappear, however, as she closes in on the wing where Steve's guestrooms are located.

She hesitates at the doors. His guard T'Kete frowns at the sight of her before turning his head respectfully.

Shuri takes a deep breath, preparing for rejection after her behavior at the gala. She raises her hand to knock quietly. After a few beats of silence, she knocks a little louder.

One of the doors opens softly and he's standing before her, tall and shirtless, hair mussed, brow and jaw set into a deep frown. His eyes rove over her from head to toe and linger inside hers, still blazing. He looks wide awake, as she knew he would be. But he doesn't speak. He's angry. Or hurt. Or both. He's been thinking about their last moments at the gala this whole time, too. She watches his jaw jump as he grits his teeth and swallows hard.

After a few agonizing seconds in which she's afraid he might actually close the door on her, he steps back and lets her walk in past him.

Steve's gaze follows Shuri into the dark room, making her heart flutter in her chest. She lets hers roam her surroundings, noticing how neatly he has unpacked (not storing any of his things in the walk-in), that he has taken and used many of the gifts from his wagon already, and that he's got the tux jacket lain across one of the large, plush armchairs near the bed. She sees the telltale signs that he's been tossing and turning in that bed all night, as she was in hers. They are so in sync it's scary.

He closes the door and walks around to face her, taking his time. She watches his tall, brawny frame move in the shadows until he comes to a stop a few paces from the bed. His deep blue eyes still burn as they prowl the length of her body again before meeting hers. His fingers curl into loose fists, causing the veins in his biceps to push up against the smooth surface of his champagne skin.

At first there is just silence, and the two of them, staring at each other. Everything they didn't say miles away beneath Bast's mural fills the atmosphere around them. Thick, almost inebriating.

When the tension feels like it's going to burst, Steve starts to say something, but she cuts him off.

"Please..." she utters, her chest rising and falling as she pulls in shallow breaths to calm her raging desire to jump into his arms. She needs to get this out first.

Steve closes his mouth, standing at attention, his broad, hairless chest mimicking hers as he also breathes to still himself. In sync. Scary. Alluring. Like magnets, only kept from snapping together by sheer force of will. _Her_ will. This choice is hers; it always has been. She has always had the power here, and they both know it. Shuri is no longer afraid of it.

"I'm sorry. For leading you on. Teasing you. Walking away when you were so honest with me."

He says nothing, watching, waiting. The anger she saw flashing at her when he first opened the door has cooled at least. She knows he appreciates hearing it. She saw the look of utter disappointment on his face when she rejected him after he threw caution to the wind and took the first step.

"But I meant every word I said to you. Your friendship means the world to me. I don't want to lose it. I also," Shuri swallows, trying to find the words, "I don't want this to be about me and Bucky. _Or_ you and Bucky. I don't want all we have between us to be our fucked up pasts...what we lost and cannot have back. I just can't. Do you get that?"

Steve is silent for a beat, taking in her words. He eyes her with barely contained anticipation.

"Then, what?"

He steps forward. She blinks hard at the look in his eyes, desire heating her as if someone dropped the sun into the room with them. "What…?"

Another step. And he kneels slowly. Easing down onto his knees, one by one. Gazing up at her with intense concentration, reverence, _lust_.

"What _do_ you want, your Majesty? What do you _need?_ "

Emboldened by the look he's giving her, Shuri steps toward him, closing the distance.

She's towering over _him_ , now. He's staring up at her as if he wants nothing more in the world than for her to command him to pleasure her. Slowly, she reaches up to lace her fingers into the short, soft, fine hair at the back of his neck. Steve closes his eyes, a soft huff escaping his thick lips. His body goes rigid as a chill spreads through him when she rakes her nails gently across his scalp. He opens his eyes and glares, unleashing the full weight of his intentions in his expression.

The look on his handsome, dead serious face makes Shuri so turned on that all she can picture is that face between her legs; those lips kissing and tending to her by now extremely yearning sex.

"I want you to thank me for your gifts, Captain," she commands quietly.

Steve exhales, reaches out, and grips her by the hips. He pulls her toward him. His hands are so big that they easily cover the circumference of her petite frame, his fingertips practically touching at the small of her back. "Yes, ma'am..." he whispers adoringly, his warm breath making her stomach flutter through the thin fabric of her negligee. Shuri lets her robe slip off her shoulders, rubbing her leg against his groin, and he needs no further instructions.

Standing in one smooth, nimble movement, he picks her up as if she weighs practically nothing, planting her on his hips. She wraps her legs around his rock hard body eagerly and croons at him as soon as she feels the contact. He's burning up from the inside out, smooth as silk, and sturdy as an oak. Steve's heated lips find hers, drinking her in, slipping his tongue inside when she pants for more. He moans when she writhes against him, desperately seeking to feel his hardness at her core. He gives her what she wants, shifting her with two firm handfuls of her ass so that the tip of his long, bulging erection rubs firmly against her, right where she wants him. She bites and pulls a little on his bottom lip, causing Steve to grip her even tighter.

"Your queen wants your tongue...mmm…. _now_."

Growling in response, Steve wheels Shuri around and carries her the short distance to the bed. Easing her down, he kisses her intensely, slowly, his tongue lapping at hers with long, deep strokes as his warm body sinks down onto the bed with her, his big hands holding her in place. He caresses and squeezes her ass and thighs and breasts through her black satin and lace lingerie, all the while kissing her into the mattress with the overflowing force of his desire for her.

Shuri lets her fingers trace the powerful, shifting muscles across his back to rake them through his hair again, causing him to shiver. In response, he moves his hot kisses from her tender lips to her delicate neck and collarbone, practically inhaling indulgent mouthfuls of her dusky, spicy-sweet skin.

He licks and kisses her as if in a trance, all the while rocking his hips into her, sliding his trapped erection against her, causing her legs to fall open beneath him in agonized anticipation.

Steve steadily makes his way, leaving a trail of kisses, licks, and little love bites in his wake, down into the deep V decolletage of her delicate slip of a negligee. Anchoring himself with one arm pressed into the bed, he uses the other's fingers to pull the strap off one of her shoulders. He tugs until her breast is exposed, her nipple instantly hardening beneath his steamy, covetous sigh.

He gives her his tongue, licking her nipple into his mouth, swirling it around and around, winding her up until she has to dig her nails into his flesh to cope. He lets her go only briefly to watch the goosebumps rise on her areola at the behest of his work before he starts a barrage of soft bites and quick, intense suckles between his heated lips. He continues until she's gasping for escape. She can only grind against him; their warm bodies sliding into each other. His a tantalizing valley of hard and soft, muscled and smooth. Hers slender, slinky, writhing and practically purring beneath him like a velour cat in heat.

Steve takes his time, concentrating, removing the other strap and repeating the same torture. He switches from one small, pert breast to the other, making Shuri feel so abuzz with longing that she squeezes her eyes shut and whimpers at him.

" _Please,_ Steve…!" she begs, though she has no idea what she's begging for. Her mind is so cloudy with desire that she can scarcely think at all, let alone form coherent commands.

Steve merely smiles, his pupils blown open wide, so drunk on her that he has to go back in for more, dipping his head to attack her hard nipples and buoyant, sable flesh again. He keeps it up until she's so wet that she's practically creaming for him already. She's been so touch starved that he just might make her come from sucking on her tits alone. She's so tuned up that if he keeps plucking her strings without mercy like this, she _will_ come all over his thigh in a minute.

She grabs him by the hair at the back of his neck and pulls, causing his sucking lips to release her tortured nipple with a juicy _pop_. " _Lower_ , for Bast's sake! You trying to kill me?"

He smirks and pushes his erection - thick, long, and pulsing hard - into her, causing her eyes to roll shut and all impatience to melt away. Shuri loses herself, trying to thrust her hips under his considerable weight so that she can feel the intoxicating friction she longs for.

"I've had about eighty years to practice patience and build some stamina, your Majesty. My tongue's all yours, all night…" he breathes, reaching up to gently pull her fingers from his hair.

He sits up on his haunches, robbing her of his delicious body heat, but giving her the friction she's desperate for as his heavy, imprisoned dick lands atop her quivering clit.

She gasps, thrusting for purchase she won't find. Steve takes her hands and puts them above her head, propping some fluffy pillows there for her to grab onto. He licks his thick pink lips.

"But if you don't mind, I kinda had my heart set on tasting…" he leans in to nip and lick at her pouting lips, "...every…" he does the same to her neck and collarbone, groaning low in his throat, "...sweet...gorgeous..." and her breast is in his mouth again, making her squirm and try to run away from the intense heat and wet swirl of his tongue, " _mmmm_...inch of you."

She swallows, her pussy practically begging for those lips, that tongue, and hopefully soon, that python straining against the inferior fabrics of his boxer briefs and her soaked panties.

Steve kisses his way down as far as he can until he has to lean up again and pull her negligee over her head, tossing it to the floor. He lets his hands roam across her petite, comely frame, squeezing and caressing her, leaning in to kiss and lick and nip some more, lighting a thousand little electrical fires all over her body. He marks her breasts, ribs, and stomach, licking inside and nibbling around her belly button, the tops of her hips and thighs...until Shuri is cursing and _so_ close to grabbing his head again to force it between her legs.

He gets the hint, smiling up at her again, and reaches down to tug off her sopping wet underwear.

Shuri sits up on her elbows a little to watch him, opening her legs in a wide V. She bites her lip and lifts her hips to aid him as he maneuvers the wet little thing off. The breeze from the open balcony windows caresses her, making her shiver. Steve stares down at her sex, his pupils wide, his pink lips parted slightly. He watches the damp fabric peel away, revealing her smooth, milky wet lips and dark pink clit, soaked with her frothy precum dripping a glistening path down onto the sheets.

"My god, Shuri, you're exquisite…" he breathes, tossing her panties to lay with her negligee and immediately making himself comfortable between her thighs.

Shuri watches him with great anticipation as he settles his broad shoulders against her, forcing her to lower her wide, athletic spread to rest her thighs and legs around him. He leans in, pressing his nose to her practically hairless mound (save for a few damp wisps of black coils she left in a small, neat strip), and inhales deeply. "And you smell fucking _amazing_."

She's too primed for what's coming to tease him about his 'potty mouth'. She isn't given the time, anyway, because Steve leans in, opens that mouth, and lets his hot tongue lave her wet lips open with a deep groan. She whimpers again and lets her head fall back, her eyes rolling shut.

" _Bast,_ yes, do that again," her high voice commands.

And he obeys, this time not pausing to give her a word in edgewise as he proceeds to eat her pussy with utterly immodest abandon. Steve Rogers - _Captain Fucking America_ \- the hundred year old boy scout - grabs Queen Shuri by the thighs and pulls her onto his open mouth, his hot tongue catching hold of her juicy lips and sucking like he's drilling for oil. Shuri rides his face, watching him get himself all damp and sticky as he attends to every inch of her wet little pussy with his tongue, lips, and eventually his thick, strong fingers.

Hard tension grips her by the abdomen and pelvis when Steve falls into a deeply erotic rythym, fucking her with two hooked fingers and raking her clit over and over again with indulgent, broad, firm strokes of his tongue. "F-Faster, Steve…" she moans, her eyes crushed shut as what she can feel will be a devastating orgasm starts to build, and build, and _oh fuck yes_ , it's right there...just under the surface…

"Mmm, yes ma'am…" he utters, sucking in another mouthful of her and picking up his pace. Shuri reaches down to grab his hair from the top this time, using the fine blond strands as a makeshift bridle to control the direction of his steamy tongue laps. She thrusts, he sucks, he licks, he hums until finally the white hot tension building inside her erupts, causing her to shudder violently and throw her head back in ecstasy.

" _Oh my god,_ _ **ugh**_ _,_ _ **fuck**_ _, yesssss…_ " she cries and hisses as multiple waves of mind-numbing pleasure rack her slender body with convulsions.

Steve raises his hooded azure eyes to watch her come undone as he licks away every drop of her cum from every fold of her pussy that his tongue can find and unearth. He patiently, adoringly delivers open-mouthed kisses to her labia and thighs until she comes down from her high.

They stare at each other, finally _fully_ embracing their raw lust for one another. The attraction they'd both been feeling - and trying futilely to hide - for a long while is loose, free, unstoppable now.

Steve looks as if he's just getting started, which causes that fissure of heat to open inside her again.

He rises, letting her tingling thighs slide from his broad, sturdy shoulders, and crawls back up the bed. Shuri watches him come, enraptured by his prowess, all two-hundred-and-forty-some-odd pounds of lean, superhuman muscle poised to strike.

Steve leans in and seizes her mouth, letting her taste herself on him in a deep, tender kiss that he takes his time letting unfold. They breathe practically in sync, totally lost in each other. Steve wraps her arms around his neck and lets go so he can get his underwear off.

He's so hard and primed that his head oozes a tiny river of precum and veins have risen to break up the smooth, waxy champagne-toned skin along the length of his pretty dick. Shuri's mouth waters and her already slick sex only becomes more slippery with steadily flowing arousal for him. He slides his hands along her thighs, rubbing small, intimate little circles into her skin with his thumbs as he spreads her open and positions himself to push inside.

Before he does, he hesitates, gazing into her eyes, kissing her sweetly. "How far can I…?" comes his husky, nearly breathless request.

"All the way," she replies, returning his tender kisses, settling her slick lips against his pulsing head, causing him to groan and grip her thighs like he's holding on for dear life. His nostrils flare with the closest thing to impatience she's ever witnessed in him. " Don't worry. I have a special implant. We're not conceiving any Wakandan heirs tonight, Rogers."

Steve's gaze lingers on her tender lips, as if he's thinking, but she doesn't get a chance to read his expression, because he lifts her up slightly and thrusts inside her. He fills her to the brim, sliding right to the back of her, where he _hits so good_ she squeals and squirms around his girth.

And he begins to fuck her, one arm wrapped around her slender waist, the other hand holding her thigh steady so she can take all of him with each cosmic blow. He moans and breathes against her mouth and neck, kissing wherever his lips can reach, squeezing her so tightly it hurts.

Soon, though, he has to let go of her, falling over with her onto the bed, covering her with his body as his thrusts slow to hard, long strokes. Shuri takes his face in her hands, kissing him over and over, encouraging him by meeting his thrusts with her own until they establish a blissful rhythm, _so good...Bast, so damn good...long, deep, hard strokes_. Sweat collects and slicks their flesh, kisses grow more and more intense and unrestrained as his tongue explores her mouth, her legs wrap and lock around his sturdy, amazing body.

He moves faster again, lacing his fingers through her long twists, burying his face in her neck to inhale her scent while he chases his release. Shuri begins to whisper to him, driving him over the edge. " _I want you like this all night, Steve...mmm...I want you inside me over and over...I want you all over the palace...I want you to fuck me any way you please. I've wanted you so much for so long and I didn't even know it..._ _ **ugh**_ _..._ _ **yes! Just like that! Don't stop!**_ "

His thrusts become more erratic but lose none of their veracity as he pounds her slight frame into the mattress. Shuri rubs her clit indulgently until she feels her own release, bucking against him and squeezing her eyes shut to ride out the orgasm as she rides his cock. Steve groans loudly when he feels her walls shuddering around him, pulling him to his own gargantuan orgasm. He comes like a rocket. His length pulses and twitches inside her, draining him dry in a rushing tide. She simply holds onto him until he finally calms, breathing hard, letting his weight sink down onto her with exhaustion.

They lay there recovering for some lengthy seconds until he finally pulls out and rolls over, letting her breathe fully.

"Christ…" he exhales, his voice deep and coated with post-coital bliss.

Shuri chuckles in agreement. "Mmm- _hmm_."

He turns to look at her in the dim, beautiful moonlight finding its way in to them behind a procession of glowing clouds. "I wanna do that again."

She laughs freely this time, a musical trill of unrestrained delight, as she turns on her side to kiss him.

"Eighty years of stamina training, huh?"

"You betcha," he winks, kissing the laughter from her lips.

They fuck again. And several more times before the sun rises.

He fucks her from behind, lets her get on top and ride him until his toes curl, then they go at it on their sides. He isn't playing, Shuri quickly finds out, and keeps learning as the hours melt away.

They only stop to drink water, use the bathroom, and rest their eyes. Steve can only give her a short respite before he's rolling over to kiss her, or sliding his fingers between her legs to see if she's still wet and ready for him.

When she's utterly spent and exhausted, the super-soldier stays up even a little while longer to kiss her all over until she's so relaxed that she drifts off and doesn't wake again until the sun is high and bright.

Her eyes flutter open and she realizes that he's spooning her, holding her close, breathing slowly and steadily into her hair. Shuri manages to ease out of his embrace without waking him, rising from the bed on weak, wobbly legs, and puts on her robe.

She has a lot to do today - a press conference, a tour of her lab, and a million other things she has an assistant to remind her of. But all she wants to do is be with Steve.

She lingers, watching him sleep. He looks so handsome and kinda boyish, now sprawled on his back, his mouth open slightly. He looks like he hasn't slept this well in ages. Shuri leans down and kisses him softly on the neck, then the cheek, before leaving a holotext in his kimoyo beads explaining that she has to work. Also adding a cheeky little 'P.S.' she hopes will make him flustered and horny.

_Keep that superhuman dick of yours ready, Rogers. I may want to ride it as soon as I see you :P_

_-Your Queen_

With one last lingering gaze at the gorgeous specimen in the messy king bed, Shuri realizes that everything she whispered to him last night was true.

He wants her, and she _definitely_ wants him. And she will let him have her. All week, if he wants. _She_ wants. She will command. And she will refuse to be ashamed of it, or even hide it, from this moment forward.


End file.
